


Words

by ideliagirl



Series: Jon and Sansa's Excellent Use of Furniture [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Crush, Character Death, Cute Kids, Domestic Fluff, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 06:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10457160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideliagirl/pseuds/ideliagirl
Summary: Prequel to the first fic of the series, Table.If you wonder why Jon Snow doesn't have a problem speaking the truth of his heart, it is not just his beautiful wife. It's also because of one Professor Aemon Maestero.Jon shows his gratitude every time he says his daughter's name.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Heavier on the tooth-rotting fluff and lighter on the smut than the first of the series, but I hope you'll enjoy it.
> 
> The alternative title was "Classroom Chairs, Front Steps, Backseats and Cribs" but that seemed a mouthful.
> 
> \--I love every single person who read the first fic of the series, Table. But those who kudo'd will find a ribboned box of lemoncakes by their front door come morning. Those who commented will find a ribboned Kit Harrington by the foot of their bed come nightfall. How will I manage this, you ask? Ravens.

Aemon Maestero was an 82 year old retired novelist and adjunct creative writing professor at Winterfell University when he met a shy sophomore who seemed woefully out of place amongst his other more verbose students.

But Aemon had based some of his best characters on the woefully out-of-place, so he took an instant liking to the young man.

“Why are you taking my class, Jon Snow?” Aemon asked after he had Jon stay behind for a bit after only the first week. “It is an elective. Wouldn’t you rather take an _on-line_ writing course, or ‘Basketweaving 101’?”

Jon blinked a few times “No, um, no sir. I like the class.”

“But _why_ are you taking it?” Aemon crossed his legs and leant back in his chair. “No one else is here, and I won’t tell anyone. What made you look at this course in the catalog and sign up at registration? Let alone walk into this room three times already? You rarely speak a word in the class.”

“I didn’t know you had to speak well to be a good writer.”

Aemon guffawed loudly. “Touché, Mr. Snow. Sometimes quite the opposite.” He looked at the papers on his desk. “Your writing samples, for instance, are the best of all my students. Words with the potential to captivate hearts and minds obviously already live within you.”

“That’s, um…that’s why I’m taking your class.”

“For the words to come out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well,” Aemon chuckled. “Now’s as good a time as any!”

Jon sighed. “Yes, sir.” He folded his hands on the desk and looked out the window. “I’m just trying to learn to craft things better, because even though the words seem to flow in my head, I’m still never sure if they’ll be a total mess when I speak them. Every time I start thinking my words are worthy and can be let out, in the next moment I start thinking they’re really stupid and can _never_ be said. Then I’m just left standing there like a total idiot, looking at _her_ —“ Jon stopped, realizing what he’d just revealed.

“The first assignment you turned in? It was excellent work.” Aemon smiled knowingly. “You have fine craftsmanship, easy poeticism.” His eyes narrowed, examining Jon. “But _she’s_ why you want the words to finally come out. The girl in your story, the redhead Queen of Winter? She’s real, is she not?”

Jon simply nodded.

“You’re unable to speak to her?”

“No, I speak to her all the time.” Jon admitted, scrubbing a hand through his messy curls. “How ‘The Bachelor’ is actually just porn they added roses to and put on network television…”

Professor Aemon snorted at that.

“How George Lucas ruined the Star Wars franchise with Phantom Menace, how the Timberwolves are the most underrated team in the NBA…politics, books, the best way to cook a kidney pie!” Jon spoke, exasperated. Then added defeatedly, “I speak to her all the time. If speaking to her were my problem, I’d be taking a public speaking class.”

“But?”

“But what if even the things I _never_ say to her---still aren’t enough?”

Aemon thought back to the heroes of his books, heartbroken with the angst of unrequited love, never knowing that the one they sought had been within reach the whole time. He could write a fine book out of Jon Snow.

The young man shook his head, swallowing hard. “She’s my best friend’s sister, still a senior in high school.” Jon stood up from the desk and put his hands in his pockets. “She’s never gonna see me as anything but the awkward boy her brother brought home way back in sixth grade and yet somehow is still always over at her house.”

“You don’t know how someone truly sees you until you truly show yourself to them, dear boy.”

“She wants a fair-haired prince with effortless chivalry, and I still barely tell her she looks nice because what if me telling her she’s the most beautiful person—inside and out—to walk all of God’s green exquisite creation, still isn’t enough for her to choose me over the stupid blonde prince with the fake smile?”

“So you don’t _really_ have a problem with words, you’re just a chicken-shit over a girl rejecting you?”

Jon’s chest heaved with quiet laughter. “Yeah, little bit.”

“Well, you will tell her.” Aemon stated plainly, shrugging his shoulders and taking the pencil and pad off his desk. “It is your next assignment.”

Jon’s eyes widened in shock. “No…no. I…you can’t make me.”

“I _can’t_ make you. I will just _fail_ you, F grade for Jon Snow!” His eyes twinkled and he gestured purposefully. “Oh, come on, you _want_ to tell her, it’s why you took the class!” Aemon softened and placed his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “The awkward boy from sixth grade you’re still letting her believe you are? He is keeping her out of your reach. She’s looking for the man she has no idea lies within you. Stop holding back your words and show her the boy is gone, and the man before her knows that _she_ is what he really wants.”

Jon’s breath stuttered out. “What if she--?”

“She will either cut you down with the blade of rejection, and you can die a hero’s death,” Aemon smiled. “Or she will marry you, and you can ride off into the sunset together.” The smile turned sadder, but sweeter. “After fifty-one years together, mine still remembered, even on her last day, what I said when I finally told her I loved her.”

“Fifty-one years with Sansa?” Jon smiled slightly, amazed at the idea. “Do you really think so?”

“You’re starting young.” The professor scoffed. “I wasted so much time! I didn’t have the benefit of a wise--and I must say still exceedingly handsome--old man to set me right.” Aemon laughed, pointing at Jon. “You can craft and recraft your words till you choke on them or you can just _let her hear them already_!”

 

***************

 

Jon showed up to the Stark house at 7am the next day to find Sansa alone and in her pajamas, drinking tea on the steps of the front porch. As he came up the walk, he wordlessly opened the box from Old Nan’s Bakery and showed her the lemoncake he’d bought her.

She smiled widely at him and patted the space next to her on the step. He sat beside her, taking a deep breath, and then the many things he’d always wanted to say to her came out in a stream that didn’t stop until he was forced to take another breath.

He spoke a lot of words that morning, but the ones that stuck and replayed in Sansa’s mind were the first three:

I love you.

 

***************

A week later, the air in the car was stiflingly thick with sweat and condensation from their joint breaths, and the buckle of a seatbelt was prodding against the small of his back, but Jon didn’t care.

His hands and lips were all over Sansa.

Strangely, neither spoke a word to each other that night, the feel of their skin sliding against each other had them both completely speechless.

They were able to speak plenty to the Wintertown police, however, who broke up the heavy action and took Sansa home to her _ready-to-spit-nails_ mother. But that’s what happens when you feel up your best friend’s sister in the parking lot of the town mall.

Jon was persona-non-grata at the Stark house for two weeks and Robb refused to speak to him. That all changed though when Robb invited Jon over with a handshake and apologetic smile so he could awkwardly admit to the whole family that he’d been secretly dating Sansa’s best friend Margaery for the better part of the Spring.

Sansa had been grounded for a month, but it hadn’t seemed to matter. Every morning and every night, she got his texts.

And everything was okay as long as she had his words.

 

******************

 

Six weeks after he told Sansa he loved her, Jon arrived at Professor Aemon’s class to find a typed note on the door.

**Creative Writing Elective 2: Language and Expression to Change the World, has been suspended due to the passing of Professor Aemon Maestero. All registered students of the class will be given a Pass for their official records and those wishing to take a Creative Writing course in the next semester will be given first priority at registration.**

**Any who wish to pay respects to the Maestero family may contact the administration office.**

**Thank you.**

Jon wanted to cry in unbelievable sadness at losing such a force in his life, but he also wanted to laugh at his unbelievable good luck. He got in just under the wire. He thought about what his life would be if Professor Aemon had died just two months earlier.

He wouldn’t have Sansa.

 

**9 ½ YEARS LATER**

 

Aemy Snow is probably the happiest 9 month old in existence as she giggles and bounces in her father arms, playing with him in his desk chair.

“Okay, Mommy is helping Aunt Marg decorate for Uncle Robb’s birthday, and Daddy has to focus to get this article submitted to his editor by the deadline.” Jon kisses her forehead. “So, you either need to stay here and play quietly in your play crib or go take a nap in your room.”

Aemy clings tighter to her father and points to the play crib in the home office that is littered with stuffed animals--mostly wolves from her grandfather.

“I _thought_ that’s what you’d want.” Jon stands up and places her in the crib next to his desk. She laughs and babbles unintelligibly, pointing to random things around her.

He laughs with her, crouching down. “One day soon, sooner than we know, you’re gonna actually be talking to us.” He ruffles her dark auburn curls as Aemy smiles at him. “But you gotta promise me….. don’t _ever_ be afraid to tell us anything.”

“This family would be nothing if we held back our words.”


End file.
